


All Those Dates

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - School, Fluff, M/M, Student Blaine, Teacher Kurt, Teacher-Student, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Blaine has a not-so-little crush on his history teacher...</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Those Dates

All Those Dates

 

Blaine’s favourite class is history, and it’s not because the dates and famous figures interest him, not in the slightest.

 

It’s that their teacher is very enthusiastic, and very fit, and one day he came in wearing tights to illustrate the Tudor fashion that they were meant to be learning about. Blaine was practically drooling, a fact that wasn’t lost on his best friend, Adam.

 

Of course, Adam’s also gay, so he actually took that moment to murmur his agreement. Blaine doesn’t know why he’s jealous of this, but Adam is a teacher’s pet through and through, and it’s hard not to notice how he plays up to Mr. Hummel shamelessly.

 

But then again, Blaine is the same. He actually takes notes in this class, not allowing his mind to wander to more interesting topics like musical theatre and divas of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Or the top forty chart. Well, maybe he still lets his mind drift to that last one a little: history class is first thing on a Monday and he’s still reflecting on all the songs. And really, he can’t be expected to not discuss it with Adam.

 

“No, Katy’s new single was gold. The fact that she was number three just shows our lack of taste as a nation,” Blaine is saying, because really the Feudal System was not destined to capture his attention.

 

“Mr. Anderson, can I help you with something?”

 

Blaine’s head snaps up, and he flushes bright red.

 

“S-sorry, Mr. Hummel,” he murmurs bashfully, ducking his head and avoiding the man’s eyes.

 

“If I catch you talking again, I’ll have to put you in detention,” Mr. Hummel sighs, and Blaine nods mutely. Normally he’d reply in a cheeky manner, and the teacher would smile and laugh a little at his carefree personality and effortless charm. But Mr. Hummel is different, and Blaine can’t bring himself to say anything at all.

 

“And besides,” Mr. Hummel continues thoughtfully, “you’re wrong. Lady GaGa deserved the top spot.”

 

“She released that song weeks ago!” Blaine protests without thinking.

 

“And it’s still better than anything Katy’s released in her entire career,” Mr. Hummel replies. Blaine just gawks at him.

 

So there’s this guy, and he’s pretty much perfect. He’s young, he can hold a conversation about female popstars (even though his opinion is entirely wrong), he’s obviously gay, sassy, and fit as hell.

 

The only problem is, he’s Blaine’s _teacher._

***

“Mr. Motta,” Kurt begins, but he’s cut off.

 

“Please, call me Al.”

 

“Mr. Motta, I’m afraid that Sugar is falling behind in history. She got a D on the last test, and the grade boundaries were uncommonly low. I know that she’s a smart girl, but she’s not applying herself.”

 

Kurt hates Parent’s Evening. Sugar Motta is as stupid as a sack of bricks, that’s the truth. In the last test, her grade was more like an F, but Kurt had taken pity on her and moved the grade boundaries. And now he has to lie to a man who practically funds the entire school. Great.

 

The meeting ends with Al promising to buy Sugar a tutor (which obviously won’t help, and Kurt wants to tell the man that not everything can be bought, that his daughter’s intelligence cannot be applied.)

 

The next parent strides in confidently, her brown hair cropped and her eyes hard.

 

“I’m Alma Lopez, Santana’s grandmother,” she says, sitting down and ignoring Kurt’s outstretched hand. She seems angry, for some reason.

 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Lopez,” Kurt replies nervously.

 

“It’s your fault,” she hisses.

 

“Now, Mrs. Lopez, Santana’s grades aren’t bad at all. In fact…”

 

“I’m not talking about the grades! It’s people like you who make my Santana think these things!” Alma fumes, and Kurt catches on. Santana had come to him once for advice on coming out, although she’d obviously been reluctant, preferring not to have to ask for help.

 

“I haven’t really talked to your granddaughter about…”

 

“Nonsense! I will not have it! I have it in my interests to get you fired!”

 

“I think you’ll find that I’m an extremely competent teacher,” Kurt insists.

 

“You must be looking at those young men in ways that are not appropriate, I don’t doubt it!”

 

Kurt shakes his head resolutely, but his mind flashes to Blaine Anderson before he can stop it. Crap.

 

“Mrs. Lopez, I think you need to leave,” he says firmly. “Santana’s sexuality is her own business, and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now…”

 

“You spread these lies! You did this!”

 

Kurt panics.

 

***

Blaine is alone at Parent’s Evening. His mother is quite the socialite, having dinner with one of the lead anchors of the local news show (Andrea, who has a last name no one, including Blaine’s mother, can pronounce.) His father is out on a business trip, ignoring his mother’s consistent infidelity.

 

He’s mooching around, feeling sorry for himself, when he hears the commotion. It’s coming from a nearby table: a woman shrieking loudly enough that heads are turning, but no one is intervening. Blaine isn’t one to sit back and let things like this happen, so he strides over confidently, restraining the women easily and pulling her back.

 

“Cohen!” a teacher barks, and a slim, black girl walks forwards, setting down the tray of coffee she was carrying. Blaine shoves the screaming woman into her arms and turns to assess the state of the poor teacher who had to deal with _that._

He’s shocked and embarrassed when he realizes it’s Mr. Hummel.

 

“Uh…I-I’m…” he stammers, blushing.

 

“Thank you, Blaine,” Mr. Hummel replies warmly. “Would you mind sitting down, actually? I needed to talk to you.”

 

Blaine gulps, and it must be visible because Mr. Hummel chuckles.

 

“It’s nothing to be worried about, I promise!”

 

“If you say so,” Blaine mumbles.

 

“Blaine, you’re extremely intelligent,” Mr. Hummel begins. “But you’re failing to apply yourself. You seem distracted in lessons, and your grades aren’t as good as they could be.”

 

“Are you gonna put me in detention?” Blaine asks, trying not to let hope seep into his voice. Okay, so maybe he’d like to spend some time alone with his history teacher. It’s not a crime…okay it sort of is.

 

“Mr. Stewart will be tutoring you,” Mr. Hummel continues, and Blaine groans.

 

“Andrew? C’mon, sir, can’t it be someone else?” Blaine begs.

 

“What’s wrong with Andrew?”

 

“He—uh—he has a massive crush on me, and…the feelings aren’t mutual…” Blaine flushes again, because could this be a more awkward conversation to be having with his teacher?

 

“You’re not gay?” Mr. Hummel asks.

 

“Oh, God, no, that’s not it! I’m more gay than Neil Patrick Harris and Elton John combined! But he’s…not my type.”

 

“What is your type, then?”

 

Blaine’s taken aback by the question (and he quickly represses the urge to say: ‘you’), but he answers as honestly as he can.

 

“Well, someone who’s more than a pretty face, and someone’s who’s not afraid to take charge every once in a while. He’s like a lost puppy, and I just…I don’t know what to do about him. But yeah. Having to spend like an hour a day with him sounds terrible to me,” Blaine admits. “Although the tutoring thing itself isn’t so bad. Maybe Adam could tutor me?”

 

“Adam’s just as behind as you are,” Mr. Hummel states dryly.

 

“Really? I didn’t know that…”

 

“I’ll work something out,” Kurt says quickly.

 

“Thanks, sir,” replies Blaine, standing up and scampering away before he can make more of a fool of himself.

 

***

Kurt doesn’t know what he was thinking, asking such personal questions like that. Instead, he focuses on his next appointment.

 

“Good evening, Mr. Rashad.”

 

And the next…

 

“Aphasia, will you get off your phone and listen to me please?”

 

And soon, the night is over (thank God). He wanders over to the staffroom, where he runs into another familiar face.

 

“Hey, sweetie! Wanna pick-me-up in that coffee?” April Rhodes is dressed in a mini-skirt and leopard-print cardigan, and Kurt winces at the smell of booze.

 

“Not since that time you got me drunk on a teaching day,” he says acidly, taking a seat.

 

“Oh, honey, you only get this sarky when you’ve got a crush. Tell Aunt April all about it…”

 

Three coffees later, Kurt is feeling oddly high. There’s a buzz in his brain and he feels warm and sloshy.

 

“April, did you spike the coffee machine?” he giggles.

 

“Maybe,” April chuckles. “Are you ready to tell me all about it, then?”

 

“It’s a student, April,” Kurt tells her sadly. “He’s gonna think I’m all…creepy and stuff. ‘M not a pedophile.”

 

“What’s his name?” April asks, eyes glinting mischievously.

 

“Blaine Anderson…” Kurt answers, while his brain fires warning signals: telling April this stuff is never a good idea.

 

That’s the last thing he remembers.

 

***

Blaine is wheeling Artie down the hall when it happens. He feels the momentum of the rapidly upturning wheelchair propelling him into the lockers, and his head hits the cold metal with an unpleasant bang.

 

“Hey! Break it up! Adams, my office! Now!”

 

Blaine feels the liquid collecting at the back of his head, and he can hear Artie whimpering in pain. This is his fault. The head bully (Azimio Adams) wouldn’t pick on him if he wasn’t the first kid to come out, spurring Azimio’s best friend to admit his sexuality. After Blaine had admitted to his sexual preference, there’d been a lot of people gaining the courage to come out themselves, including the slightly annoying ones like Andrew. But Azimio had remained as homophobic as ever: calling anyone who dared to hang around with Blaine a ‘fag’. Blaine thinks his cigarette related retort was getting pretty old already.

 

But now Artie’s been dragged into it, and Blaine can’t even see straight, sinking to the floor and closing his eyes. Everything’s fuzzy, but he can hear sounds like yelling and screaming in the distance, and his eyelids feel so heavy…

 

***

Kurt is panicking. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He’s called for the nurse, but Blaine has passed out, and Artie is still groaning in pain. Azimio is waiting in his office and he’s still seeing red: the fact that someone would do such a terrible thing in the first place, let alone to a kid in a wheelchair, and…Blaine.

 

“Everyone, go to class!” he yells, wanting to be alone. To do God knows what, but the noise is distracting him and everyone is trying to crowd around Blaine’s unconscious form, and Kurt _has no idea what to do._

“Blaine!” he says, running over to the boy once the crowd has dispersed. He pulls Blaine’s head away from the locker and feels blood soak his fingertips. Not good. He casts his eyes around, and they fall on Artie. He stands and pushes Artie gently back into his wheelchair, pulling it upright.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks urgently.

 

“I fell on my arm,” Artie complains. “But I think you need to make sure Blaine’s okay first. I’m fine.”

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Kurt admits.

 

“Just get something to stop the flow of blood with,” Artie suggests.

 

Kurt nods in gratitude and pulls and grabs Artie’s jacket from where it’s fallen on the floor. He dabs at the back of Blaine’s gelled hair, trying to stem the flow of blood.

 

“Oh, God,” he mutters, feeling nauseated.

 

The nurse arrives and he almost passes out in relief.

 

***

When Blaine wakes up, it’s to an argument.

 

“What do you mean, you can’t get through to his parents?” demands a voice that Blaine vaguely recognizes.

 

“We’ve tried their cellphones, their work cells and their home phone. Nothing.”

 

“They won’t answer for me,” Blaine mumbles, trying to sit up.

 

“Shit! Blaine, you’re awake! How long have you been awake? How does your head feel? Do you need more medication?”

 

“I feel sufficiently drugged up,” Blaine answers carefully, bringing a hand round to dab at the back of his head.

 

“He’s fine,” the nurse assesses, leaving the room. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have paperwork to fill out.”

 

They’re left alone, and Blaine watches Mr. Hummel with heavy lidded eyes. He really does feel like he’s had too many drugs.

 

“I can’t even feel my head,” he mutters. “How many drugs did they give me?”

 

Mr. Hummel blushes and averts his eyes.

 

“I might have told them to give you…above the legal required…um…amount…”

 

“Mr. Hummel…”

 

“Kurt, just call me Kurt.”

 

“Kurt,” Blaine tests the name out on his tongue, liking the way it feels. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go to all this trouble. I mean, it’s my fault Artie probably broke his arm or something, and now you have to deal with my parents and all this, I’m just—mnph!”

 

He decides that he’s really too woozy to fully appreciate the feeling of Kurt’s lips on his, but it still feels nice. In his hazy state, he forgets that this is something that could potentially get Kurt fired, and him expelled. He’s not very worried about that because Kurt’s mouth tastes like cinnamon and cinnamon is a very nice taste to have in your mouth when you’re kissing someone.

 

“Oh, God,” Kurt groans, pulling back abruptly. “I’m sorry! I’m so stupid, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”

 

Blaine sighs and presses his lips to Kurt’s again, sighing at the feeling. Yeah, this is definitely good.

 

“You don’t have to be sorry, I kissed you back,” Blaine shrugs. “It’s all very romantic, me being on my death-bed and all.”

 

“You don’t mind?”

 

“Mr. Hum—Kurt, you’re very attractive, and you’re intelligent and sometimes you sing when you walk down the corridors and it is pretty much my mission in life to duet with you, and when your hair is tousled in the mornings I want to be the one who made it that way and did I mention that you’re sexy as hell?”

 

“Hell isn’t sexy,” Kurt smirks.

 

“Okay, well. Basically, I just kissed my history teacher, and I sort of liked it a whole lot, and I’d like to do it a lot more, if he’ll let me.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Bloody hell, do you want me to say it in French? J’adore tu?”

 

“Did you just try to say ‘I love you’ in French?” Kurt asks. Blaine blushes again, because he’s prone to that while Kurt’s around.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“How about this? I’ll tutor you in history,” Kurt offers, standing up.

 

“Ugh, do I actually have to learn about what the fuck happened in 1066?” Blaine complains.

 

“Language!” Kurt chides gently.

 

“You said ‘shit’ in front of me not five minutes ago,” Blaine reminds him.

 

“Good point. And with the tutoring…we’ll see. I’m not making any promises!”

 

“Okay. And the duet?”

 

Kurt laughs, and the sound rings pleasantly through Blaine’s ears.

 

“Well, I can promise that. Come Christmas, I will not pass up the opportunity to sing ‘Baby, it’s cold outside’ with you,” Kurt vows. “Oh, and j’adore tu, aussi.”

 

Blaine thinks he might have to work a bit harder in history, now.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
